


we'll sweep out the ashes in the morning

by xoxogossipwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, attack of the second person lol, idk what this is, maybe eventual stiles/derek if i continue it but idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:16:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxogossipwolf/pseuds/xoxogossipwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's life after The Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll sweep out the ashes in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts forever sooooooo i finally was like "i should finish that hmm" so voila i guess please be gentle

You are sitting in a desk when your world collapses around you, piles of ashes and smoke and rubble is all that remains. 

The Sheriff comes in, his heart beating a little too fast to be normal, sadness spilling from his pores. You look at him and just knows he’s here for you. You try to keep your wolf from coming out, shifting in the middle of this classroom would be anything but good. The sheriff calls your name, asks him to come with him, there’s been an accident. You are puzzled, accident? If there was a car accident your family would be fine, unless there was someone human, your father’s sister and brothers and their children were visiting. That must be it. Right?

The car pulls up to your house, still smoking and the smell burns your insides to ash. No. No, no, no. The sheriff is talking about electrical problems, it was an old house, wasn’t it, son? You want to scream that you are not the sheriff’s son, your parents are dead. You are not anyone’s son anymore.

Laura pulls you into a fierce hug when she sees you, you don’t think she has it in her to be gentle, even at a time like this. All of them, Laura, you think. So many are dead. Why? Why didn’t they get out? 

That question haunts you until you goes to Kate Argent’s apartment, empty and smelling of chemicals and the puzzle pieces fall into their slots. She did this. The hunter you convinced yourself that you loved, that she loved you. You wish she was here so you could rip her throat out with your claws, watch her blood pool around her. That wouldn’t bring your family back, though, would it? 

But then again, was it her fault? She was just doing what she was taught, it was your fault. You killed your family, didn’t you? The realization comes down on you like a lightning strike, and that is the only thing that you can think of. Murderer, murderer, murderer, you killed them, you killed your family, all those frail humans your parents warned you to be gentle with because they couldn’t heal like you, your parents, your warm, loving, kind, strong parents. Your pack, dead, dead, dead. You killed them, Derek Hale. You killed them and all they left behind was a hole where your heart used to be. 

You find Laura sitting in her car, tears falling in hot waves on her cheeks the sadness that filled the car was cloying, you climb inside and grab her hand holding tightly. You think you hear her bones break with the force you use, she grabs back just as tightly and you definitely hear something snap on you. You relish that, you deserve it, you killed them. Dead, because of you. Because of a stupid tryst with a stupid hunter, how did you think it would end, you want to scream at yourself. With a wedding?

Laura does not tell you that it's going to be okay, that you’re both going to be fine, she doesn’t say anything at all as she starts the car up and drives past the town line. 

She doesn’t say anything until you pass the state line, into Nevada, how does New York sound, little brother, is all she says. It isn’t a question. You just hope New York doesn’t smell like fire.

The city is good, you don’t go back to high school, Laura doesn’t pester you about it and you cannot begin to express how grateful you are. You like the bustle of people, you distract yourself with them. 

You think the woman in the coffee shop you frequent has a crush on the barista with the pink hair and nose ring. Her heart rate always speeds up when she orders her coffee, the thought makes you want to smile. But you don’t really know how to do that anymore. 

You like how the old man always feeds the ducks in central park. He has the sharp scent of pain and the almost sweet scent of sadness around him. He’s dying, you think. Some sort of cancer. The thought doesn’t make you sad, like it would have six months ago. You sigh and leave the park, leave the ducks and the old dying man. 

You hate passing families, their happiness makes your breathing unsteady and your eyes sting. It’s not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. Your whole family is dead and they just pass you, ice creams in hand and smiles on their faces. You want to hit them, you want to cry, you want to breathe.

A year passes and the wound is still as fresh as the day the sheriff took you to your home and fed you the ashes of your family. Whoever said time heals all wound was full of complete shit, you think. You don’t get out of bed that day.

Sometimes, when the grief is burning your insides you run, you run through central park, you run through the seedier parts of the city, hoping someone will corner you just to pick a fight. No one ever does, maybe it's the dead look in your eyes, maybe the sense the danger and the anger bubbling under your skin. Sometimes you wish they would though, just to have an excuse to hurt someone, to let someone hurt you. 

You and Laura barely talk, both drowning in your grief. You want to talk to her, tell her it's your fault, I killed them Laura. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, it's okay if you hate me, I hate me too. You don’t do this though, you can’t risk losing Laura.

On one of your runs you see a woman that reminds you so much of your mother you think for a minute she is actually there, of course it isn’t her. You killed your mother she isn’t coming back. You’re running and you can’t breathe, you can’t see through the film of tears that are blinding you. You run all the way back to your apartment, Laura is on the couch, reading a book. She looks up at you when you come in and her small, sad smile turns into worry as soon as she looks up at you.  
You don’t say anything just stare at her with wide eyes. You want to tell her about Kate, you want to tell her about the woman you saw and how she looked so much like mom and that when she walked away it felt like losing her all over again, you want to tell her how sad you are and sometimes you can’t breathe because her pain chokes you, and you want to tell her how sorry you are, you’re so sorry if you could trade places with everyone that died you would, you would, you would. But instead you say, “I think it's time to go back.” Laura looks at you, hard and nods. It's time to bury the past, time to wash the blood and ashes off your hands. It's time to forgive yourself, you think.


End file.
